In Which the Neighbor Proposes Murder

It was such a nice day on Monday that I decided to take advantage and do outdoorsy things that need attention (besides scoop poop, which is basically, same shit, different day).

The lucky dwarf spotted bison were attached to the alley fence to grazed peacefully and get a good brushing, DogGus happily snarled at all who passed and I got to work on the neighbors' blackberries.  I love blackberries, yes, I do, but not the big scratches they leave on the truck's paint when I drive by.  Also, there were some big scotch-broomy looking things that were out of control.  I know they'll grow back, but at least for now the paint is safe.

So on with the gloves, safety glasses (I am Captain Safety, of course, which is the whole reason this blog was created.  I digress.)  and out come the lopping shears.  I attacked the immediate neighbors patch of vines and the scotch-broomy thing.  I start to go down the alley to the next backyard overgrowth when I see Herman the German outside  (I think he is actually Dutch, but that doesn't rhyme).  He is a neighbor that is kitty corner to our yard along the alley.  He also has the infamous Cranky Franky that will just as soon bite you as look at you. 

Great aside story about Herman;  my friend and I were riding in the big arena one day and Herman trotted in on Franky doing his fancy dressage moves, which were actually very impressive.  I hear a shout, just in time to see Herman on bucking Franky and up and over onto the sand he flies.   Herman doesn't wear a helmet and evidently never will, so it was scary.  I got Bombay over to block the arena entrance so the Crank wouldn't run out and Herman sheepishly got to his feet while Franky was trying to bite my friend and her horse.  Since then, Herman made fun of our fancy helmets and has now taken to calling my little beasts, my "fashion accessories".  Some may be insulted, but I think he is weird and he's trying to be funny (and is embarrassed at being seen bucked off).  After all, he is in his 70's and rides like a madman, so you gotta respect that.

So I wave hello to Herman and he saunters over to say, "I see you are murdering the blackberries."  "Yup, they scratch the paint on my truck," I reply.  "You know, those blackberries have a mother and a father and haven't done anything wrong."  I had never thought of that.  I asked him if he liked blackberries.  "Oh, yes, they are so good, I pick them every summer."  I asked, "So, you like eating babies?"  He stared at me and said, "My wife says I over think these things."  I told him perhaps he does.

He still has a cool accent.